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Day one, late evening- Somber
Jacy was right. He hadn't even considered what could happen past the next half hour. Just like her, he was ready to, as some might say, 'slap a bitch'- a feeling he was unfamiliar with. "You're right," he said, a sad weight in his voice. "You're right..." he repeated, more of a mutter. He looked to Vas. It was his say, really. ~ Before long, they were all back in the Galley and Jacy was pouring them all shots which Dillon politely declined. "Health issues..." he mumbled as an excuse. He didn't want to drink, but he still wanted to be there for poor Vas. "You'd better not be drinking," came a voice from the entrance to the Galley. Had he taken a sip, Dillon easily would've just spat it out or choked on it in shock. "How- What the hell are you doing here!?" He was very obviously shocked and even a bit fearful. The moderately dressed man in the doorway calmly shrugged. "Do passengers have to stay in their cabins?" Dillon's body was stiff, yet ready to move. He was in a whirl of emotions. He felt hot anger rising up with the rest from that dormant place he kept his negative emotions corralled in. The only way his feelings could be more outwardly obvious were if he was a cat with its back arched and hackles raised. The man was calm. Unphased. Like he lived there and this was typical. "What do you want?" Dillon tried to keep his voice steady, but failed, resulting in a growl. The man took a few confident steps closer. "This is what's going to happen, Daniel... This lovely little boat is leaving for Ezra tomorrow. When we get there, we're going to find the quickest ride to Ariel." Only having fear and anger to choose from, Dillon chose the latter. He stood. "The Fuck do you mean we? I'm staying with this ship! And if it ever just so happens to touch anywhere near Ariel, I'm not setting foot off of it!" Suddenly, a wave of dizziness swept over Dillon and he had to use the table for support as his legs went weak. The man hurried forward, suddenly worried instead of calm. He passed Jacy and was reaching for Dillon's shoulder. "Don't fucking touch me!" he hissed at the man. "Daniel..." the man sighed exasperatedly. "For heaven's sake! You can't survive out here." "Maybe that's the point!" Dillon snarled viscously. His head was clearing, but he kept his hands on the table. The man frowned, sparing a glance at the stunned audience of the Galley. "Maybe you'd like to discuss this in private?" he said, his tone calm again. Dillon had completely forgotten there were others in the Galley. "No," he said, his voice still strong, but slightly more on the calm side as well. "Fuck off." It was a simple reply. The man sighed. "We'll talk," he said. "Don't bother trying to run somewhere else. I found you here, I can find you anywhere." With that, the man simply retreated. Dillon lowered himself heavily back into his seat. He snatched a glass, intending to down it's contents, but stopped. He raised it, ready to throw and break it, but stopped there as well. He put it back down. The flooding emotions reversed their direction. Suddenly, he was filled a concoction of panic, regret, confusion, and a few other ingredients. The anger was gone with the man, leaving behind worry and fear, a special brew of anxiety. "Sorry..." he mumbled weakly to the onlookers. He'd gone from verging violence to meek fear. "I..." Now what? Now what? Now what? He felt like he'd crossed a few lines with the others. They'd seen something they weren't supposed to, and he had no idea what to do about it. He could go curl up in his bed, but he didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be caught vulnerable to continuing the conversation or worse. He sat at the table under the stares of these people who he'd hoped he'd had a chance of friendship with, but now.... He put his head down on the table and crossed his arms over it, resisting two urges; one to bite down on his arm and scream into it, the other to scratch hard at his violently itching wrists. This wasn't supposed to be about him... Why the hell did this happen?